


5 Years.

by orphan_account



Series: war au's [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: I didn't kill levi for once, M/M, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:31:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Each morning, Eren learned—the subtle inflection of Levi's voice as he formed varying words, or what he was like at three AM, burning his throat with alcohol and searing away the sights he endured.</em>
</p><p>Five years wasn't too bad, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Years.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing anymore kill me

And that's what he told everyone sitting around him in the small, dark pub—that he'd fallen for the short french soldier with a penchant for shit jokes and stolen kisses.

—He didn't feel the need to fill them in on the rest - his rough German fading to the background of their minds. He supposed, then, that it no longer mattered. Not really. 

Yet, he knew that was a lie. 

.  
.  
.

_5 years ago, small German town_

He watched him then—the man with the petite, paled hands that looked as though they'd seen better times. He heard him speak, German shoddy at best - still thick with the French of his home country's language - voice breathy, like the German, yet inconsequentially smoothed by French.

_'Be safe, kid.'_

Somehow, it sounded right. 

He heard the clicking. The resonance of a loaded firearm. 

It sounded wrong—but the seventeen year old boy with the green eyes that were far too bright just smiled at the man whose name he hadn't known, and that the other hadn't cared enough to share. 

The boy had heard gunfire that night as he was laying down in his home - breath uneven, nerves eating at his core. 

Why should war determine life and death? Why should he have to be at the epicenter? 

It perpetually angered him - shifting in bed, standing up, sliding on a pair of black shoes that had been caked with mud since the day his mother had brought them home. The boy hadn't listened. _'Don't go out in the mud, Eren.'_

He went out into the chilled night—sky red in the distance, above him, expanding hues of dark blues and purple. 

He didn't realize he was waiting for the french soldier to return until the next morning, when he was awakened by a small, rough hand placed on his shoulder—a voice that had become familiar scolding him for sleeping outside on the cold porch, saying _he_ could've been hurt. 

_'Not everyone is as nice as me, kid.'_

And Eren didn't know what possessed him then—supposed it didn't matter as the early morning breeze blew pieces of chestnut colored hair across his face—the younger man's arms wrapping around the frenchman's neck.

'I'm so glad you're safe.'

Why did he care? He supposed he should have been scared in that moment—yet, his fear had been remedied with the soldier's return.

He learned the man's name was Levi. 

.

Eren acquired knowledge of many things over the course of a year - that time Levi was stationed near his home—learned that the man was twenty, as Eren turned eighteen. He found that the man had a penchant for black tea in the mornings, at which point Eren would rush out from his home - delicately cradling a ceramic cup that had been filled to the brim between his fingers - the handle gripped delicately as he attempted not to burn his hands. 

Each morning, Eren learned—the subtle inflection of Levi's voice as he formed varying words, or what he was like at three AM, burning his throat with alcohol and searing away the sights he endured.

One day, he could no longer take it—was ridiculous, as Levi returned to Eren's home to sit on the doorstep and talk, about anything and everything - the bags beneath the man's eyes growing darker with time, with each stray away from Eren's home. 

Blood on the other, Eren found the taste of tobacco and spearmint, of black tea and bitter—as if the young man with dark grey eyes couldn't stand the taste of himself on his tongue, and was attempting to burn away his marred identity. Eren didn't care, then, about consequences—Levi's bloodied sleeves wrapping around his neck, the younger boy gripping the soldier's hips. He didn't mind the mild taste of peppermint and cigarette smoke as he gasped - Levi's teeth sinking into his lower lip. 

_'C'est incroyable, Eren.'_

. 

Levi disappeared for six months following.

 _—He couldn't be dead._

Eren sat every night, front door closed - body cold, shivers rocking him on the porch. He'd come back.

—became unsure as time passed, confidence failing. Gunfire in the distance, and a call for the french.

_Fear._

Yet on the creaking wooden porch he stayed—green eyes hoping to land on him.

.

Scorching sunlight, mid-July—summer heat a new level of unbearable. 

Brown sugar—tanned skin, long arms moving - placing the apples in a basket, shifting his weight minutely with each step.

_Seven months ago, he was here._

Water bottle - long gulps, closed eyes—Eren sat in the grass by his home, his parent's home. 

Footsteps—probably his mother returning from the market. 

'You're going to have a heat stroke, you know?' 

Eyes of perpetual storms with rings around them, darker than the black tea Eren had taken for him in the mornings stared down at him—the older man's hand fidgeting as his side—unknowing, unassuming. 

The other stood up - shot to his feet, bare skin squishing in the mudded grass beneath them. Levi's boots—caked in the brown, sludge mud, but he couldn't care—as Eren's arms found his shoulders, pulling him close.

He smelled of nothing tangible - simply of Eren as Levi's arms wrapped around him, eyes slipping shut—placing feather light kisses across the skin of a tan neck. And his stomach was in knots, he hadn't expected this - but the kid had always surprised him. 

Eren breathed in, face buried in the top of the other man's dark hair—words a breath. 'I missed you.' 

'I missed you too, Eren.' 

Eren's grip tightened—if possible, fingers digging into the fabric of Levi's dark colored uniform. 

'I was scared you were never coming back.'

And Levi nearly choked on his breath - the air he was inhaling. He had let it come to this, and he couldn't say he minded—not really.

'Me too, kid. Me too.' 

.

Levi was stationed two miles from Eren's home—he learned. 

Eren smiled. 

Levi did not.

'It puts you in danger.'

'You're here, though.'

'Idiot.'

.

He learned what it was like to have your breath stolen in a kiss each time your lips made contact—a pair of hands not belonging to you - trailing along your bare torso—pale fingers tracing lines of muscle, feeling every ridge from callous on small hands. 

—learned what it was like to be doted on - pleasured. Everyone gone from the house except one other individual - grey eyes locked on his face as a rough hand moved along Eren's cock, the other on his cheek—thumb rubbing across the soft skin. _'Beautiful.'_ Eye contact as the pressure coiled in his gut—Levi's hand still moving at an agonizing pace, thumb flitting slowly across the tip, pushing the boy to his close limit. _'Magnifique.'_

Eren gasped for air as he came, words falling off of his tongue before he was ready—like a torrential downpour with no end in sight. 

'I love you, fuck.'

Eyes hardened - tongue burning venom. 

'I do.' He'd spoken—again, voice shaky.

'Don't say things you can't mean, Eren.' 

He left, then. 

.

Eren learned cruelty, when he found the envelope tacked to his door. 

His breath caught. 

It had been a week since he'd seen Levi.

—shaking hands, fingers that seemed too unresponsive to be real managed to pull out the piece of paper. 

A letter. 

__

> Eren,  
>  I am not the best with words, or German, as you've come to know. I've been re-stationed. I'm going state-side, as in, the United States of America. God only knows why they need me over there, but I suppose nothing of this war makes sense anymore. Not the reasoning, not involvement. Nothing.
> 
> But, that is not the point of this. I wanted to apologize for walking out on you a about a week ago. That was wrong of me. I had come over to tell you of my relocation, and it had gone too far. 
> 
> Eren, you cannot love me. For your own sake. 
> 
> I want you to know that though I may seem indifferent, I've loved this past year with you—loved you. So because of that, and because of the position I am in, I want you to forget me. Forget that I existed.
> 
> Please, find your happiness, kid. 
> 
> Je t'aime,  
>  levi
> 
> Post script—I'll never forget you. 

He fell to his knees. 

—couldn't cry until much later as he returned to his bed - found the white piece of fabric Levi always wore around his neck.

Attempted to burn it the next day - hid it in his drawer instead. 

.

He didn't forget. 

.  
.  
.

 _Present, five years after Levi's departure, Setting: pub mentioned in the beginning_

He had no idea why he'd brought him up—why Levi was on his mind this time. 

—hated the way he could remind himself of the man five years later, at twenty three. 

—hated the way he could hear the stupid combination of french and german. 

'I'm looking for Eren Jaeger.' 

It sounded like him, but Eren must have been drunk - footsteps making their way to his table—his friends' faces remarkable masks of shock.

He turned. 

Inhaled - sharp breath.

'Levi.'  
.  
.  
.

_Eren learned that five years hadn't made a difference. ___


End file.
